Blind
by Mistress Of The Macabre
Summary: "I don't have time to fall in love. Winning this is everything. Love does nothing but waste potential." Sounds good in theory, but Noah never expected to eat his own words. Noah/OC. Warning: Condescending, sarcastic Noah.
1. Chapter 1

Double Physics on a Friday afternoon- disgusting!

If you'd asked me a few minutes ago, I would have said that there couldn't be anything worse- two hours of sitting slumped in a stuffy room filled with obnoxious, braindead teenagers while I attempted to NOT look too bored…but when there's a knock at the door, and it opens, and I see my mother outside- I mentally kick myself, because life can _always _get worse.

When a parent, particularly one of _mine, _shows up unexpectedly, it generally means one of two things: either someone close to you has died, or you're in serious trouble. My immediate reaction to this unexpected situation: Well, _I _couldn't be in trouble, being the goody-two-shoes I am, so…please don't let anyone be dead!

I think of Dad, my brothers and sisters, my Aunt Kim, all my cousins- it could be anyone. Alive and well this morning. Now stiff and cold, blood pooling at the backs of arms, thighs, buttocks. Eyes open and glassy.

Not that I've ever seen anyone dead. I haven't. Can you imagine someone like me even going _near _a dead body? Ugh, I can't imagine anything worse. But my Biology teacher told me once- what happens to a body once the heart stops beating, I mean. How the…ugh, do I really have to think about this? Please don't let anyone be dead! Please don't let anyone be dead! Plea-

Then I see my mother's face, white with rage, and I knew she was here to punish, not comfort. My heart sinks. Who's on the receiving end of her rage? Not _me, _surely…

I exhale noisily and roll my eyes. "Somebody's going to die," I murmur.

**XxX**

The principal's office. It turns out that I'm not in trouble, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Why would I, Noah Andrews, be in trouble? I admit that while I have a slight reputation around the school as a 'Trashmouth', I am never the instigator of any fights. It's like instinct, you know? I see an opportunity, and I open my mouth, and…well, the rest is history. I've been beaten up enough times to know that it's probably in my best interest to shut up occasionally, but I'm like a recovering drug addict. Sometimes I can't help myself.

But I can at least say that I have _never _been the instigator in such fights. Not intentionally, anyway, and who would the teachers rather believe? A dimwit, or me?

Mom's raving about Chris Maclean. Of course she is. He's an idiot. A sick, twisted man with a warped- VERY warped- sense of humour. Forget Tobin Bell, they should have just gotten Chris to play Jigsaw instead. They more or less did the same thing- torture people, primarily teenagers, and sit back and laugh their asses off. But I'm rambling- I tend to do that-, so back to the situation at hand:

Mom's like me. Or, as I should say, I look very much like her. Deeply tanned skin, dark hair and eyes. All eight of my siblings are just the same. But that's as far as resemblance goes in my family; my siblings prefer to lounge around in jeans and ripped t-shirts, doing whatever they can to keep their heads above water. It's this reason why I despise my family so. My brothers and sisters weren't stupid by any means- but they like to pretend to be so, and this irritates me to no end. Then again, they weren't labelled a 'child prodigy', as I was, so I suppose they can afford to be absolute slobs.

Being somewhat more intelligent than the average teenager, I took all the advanced classes at school, and would be on my way to college right now if I hadn't taken the time off for Total Drama Island, or World Tour. My scores easily match those in their final year of college, but I've missed too much of school to really go anywhere. I might even have to repeat a year. Since my parents tested my IQ at the age of five (which, by the way, is easily around the 170 mark), they've been encouraging me to do well at school. They only let me go on Total Drama because of the possibility of winning a million dollars, with which I could safely secure myself a place at Harvard. Well, that was their plan, anyway. But I had expectations to meet, and my scores meant everything to me.

Which was why my mother was screaming at Mr. O'Toole, the principal.

"_Chris Maclean!" _she exploded, slamming a suspicious stack of papers on his desk so hard that his pencil-holder fell off. I fell a stirring of something like sympathy for the man- my mother could be damned scary sometimes- but I bit it back. Me, sympathetic? Sympathy was _not _part of my genetic makeup. Sarcasm, however…

"What does our sick, perverted psychopath want now?" I ask dryly, twisting my lips into the smirk I frequently wore, "'Let's humiliate the teenager, part three?'"

"_That's EXACTLY what he wants!" _Mom snarled.

I raise an eyebrow, my smirk quickly fading. "Uh, excuse me?" I'd been joking, so for Mom to say this…I suddenly felt ill.

"Mrs Andrews…please," Mr. O'Toole pleads. He hates it when people yell- my mother especially. But they're good friends, so if anyone can calm her down, he can. Before my eyes, she starts to deflate. Most of the rage disappears- _most _of it. That beastly expression slides off her face, and she begins to look somewhat human again. Can you believe this? That this screaming woman is my _mother? _She once picked me up from school- I'd been beaten to a pulp that day for screaming _'Nice one, banana heels!' _to the current school bully- and everyone stared. See, I'm generally apathetic. Not much fazes me, unless you ask me to participate in gym. I DON'T exercise. It's not my thing, and I've made sure to make that perfectly clear since I've started here. They never even got me to do sport when I was a child.

So you can see how surprised Mr. O'Toole was. I usually wandered around with my nose in a book, never paying anyone the time of day, whilst my mother…if there was such a thing as a job as a professional screamer, that would be her thing. She only ever stops when she's sad, around my principal, or when she's asleep. If there was anything positive about Total Drama Island, it was that I finally got away from the chaos that is my family. Not that the contestants on that damned show were any better…

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and gives me a sad smile. "Noah, I have some bad news."

"I gathered that." My tone is icy. She's annoyed me, and I want her to know that.

She flinches a little. Good. _"This _came in the mail for you today," she says, gesturing to the huge stack of papers. I raise an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Do you always make a habit of opening my mail?" I snap, snatching the paper off the desk before she can take it back. Before she can defend herself (she was more than used to my quips), the principal takes over.

"Tone it down, Noah," he says sternly, fixing me with an intense stare. I meet his eyes evenly, keeping my expression carefully neutral- this is the expression I wear when I turn up to his office with a black eye for pointing out the blatantly obvious. This time, he's not fazed by it. "You need to get your mouth in check," he says, wagging a finger in my direction. "That's what gets you in trouble, you know?"

"Whatever," I mutter, and turn my attention to these papers which have caused so much trouble. TOTAL DRAMA RELOADED, the headline reads, and I groan. Again? Really? Has Chris not had enough of torturing us poor souls who have endured his insufferable schemes and ploys? Chris was like a rat covered in dirt and swimming in sewerage. Damned smart, but slippery. Slimy. Smarmy. There are millions of words I could use to describe him, but doing so would be a waste of my breath.

Mom seems a little calmer, if not subdued. Now that I take the time to look her over properly, I notice that she seems more sad than anything. The red-rimmed eyes. Mismatched clothes. Hair sticking up in places where she's clearly grabbed at it. She tries to speak, doesn't manage it, tries again. "Noah- Chris wants you as a contestant on Total Drama again."

I knew this was coming, but her saying makes it final, and my heart literally feels like its' sinking. I purse my lips, consider a way to respond to this without blowing her to bits. I'm not good at controlling myself. Trying not to be nasty and snarky is actually very difficult for me. But I manage to sound somewhat civil: "And if I say no?"

I mean, there's no way I'm doing this again. Granted, World Tour was a lot better than the original, but I miss the stability that school provides. If it was perhaps a more private affair, maybe I wouldn't feel so ruffled. But the fact that this show is aired across the world is the deal-breaker. I don't want people seeing me make a fool out of myself on international television. I'm getting beaten up enough as it is.

Mom sighs. "That's just it," she whispers, looking more miserable than ever, "You _can't _say no."

"What?!" I'm done with being civil. Mom's just dropped a bombshell- one that I HATE. You can ALWAYS say no to these things…it's not like they can FORCE you into doing anything…right? Right?

She pats my shoulder gently. Now I'm the one who needs calming down. "Noah, you didn't read the fine print, did you?" She smiles sadly. "You should have. Because you've been signed on for three seasons, not two. And since you didn't take part in Action or Revenge of the Island…"

"No!" I shout, not wanting to believe, yet accepting it at the same time. Damn Chris Maclean! Damn him! Damn him and his stupid fine print! Who the hell READS fine print, anyway?!

And this, ladies and gentleman, is how I come to participate in Chris Maclean's latest torture: Total Drama Reloaded.

**A/N: Hey, everyone! This is my first TDI Fanfiction, so go easy on me, okay? By the way, Noah is naturally condescending and rude, so I tried to stay as much to his character as possible. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Cheers. **


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours later, I am waiting in line to get on the plane which will take me as far as Ontario, then I am to get on the dreaded 'Boat of Losers', which will take me to…ugh, Camp Wawanakwa. Mom's not happy about it, and neither am I. I'd rather sit through catch-up math than go through this rubbish again. The only reason why I'm here in the first place is because Chris anticipated this- mutual outrage amongst the original contestants, I mean.

The prize has jackpotted to two million dollars.

Not only will this prize money secure me a place at Harvard, I could more or less live the rest of my life without lifting a finger- which, of course, appeals to me greatly. I don't exercise, and I detest working even more. So you can see, of course, how two million dollars tempts me. I admit that I can be greedy, and I am most probably playing right into Chris's hands, but…this is two million dollars.

Mr. O'Toole has agreed to let me stay the eight weeks for Reloaded, given that I repeat a year when I return. I'm not happy about this. I mean, it was a possibility before, but now it is a sad reality to face- that I'll have to sit through my Advanced classes _again, _with people who are considerably younger than me.

I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. I really don't want to be here. Mom envelops me into a hug, and I can tell she hates this as well. "I'll miss you, Noah," she sobs into my hair, and I can't help but wrinkle my nose. I feel eyes on us, and I grimace. This was embarrassing. What if, pray tell, Chris had cameras on us already? Knowing him, he'd probably play this, and then everyone will be able to see just how emotionally unstable my mother is.

I untangle myself from her fierce grip with some difficulty. I notice with some disdain that my clothing is rumpled, and my hair is sticking up in random places where she's grabbed at it. Great. This is just what I need. But I know she means well enough, so I decide not to say anything. Instead, I give her what I hope is a comforting smile. "It's not like you're not going to see me, Mom," I point out, "I'll be on TV."

This doesn't do anything to ease her worry, unfortunately. "That's not the same, and you _know _it!" she wails, dragging me back into her iron grip. I do my best to protest, but she's having none of that. I am suddenly reminded of how violently Sierra tackled Cody back in World Tour, and I roll my eyes when Mom's not looking.

"Flight 147 is now ready for boarding!" A flight attendant calls. Mom lets me go reluctantly.

"Have you emailed Chris ahead to let him know about your allergies?" she asks, tears streaming freely down her face.

I shrug. "Not that he cares," I mutter.

"Flight 147, ready for boarding!" the attendant calls again, and I know that she's waiting for me. Technically, the plane can't leave until I'm on it, because Chris has secured me a place on that plane. In first class, no less. And I am horribly aware that I am probably holding up a plane full of people.

"I have to go," I say, and give my mother a tentative hug. Worrywart or not, she's still my mother, and I _will _miss her. To some degree, anyway. She kisses my forehead gently and releases me, still crying freely.

"I'll miss you, Noah," she says. I nod in return. If I say anything else now, I might do something stupid, like cry. And what a lovely impression _that _will leave on both the audience and my rivals.

The flight attendant looks like she's ready to murder someone- me. I wave to Mom, who waves embarrassingly in return. I force a smile on my face on the chance that Chris is filming this, then I pick up my bags and get onto the plane.

**XxX**

I am prepared today. To compensate for the strenuous plane trip, I brought my laptop. Normally, I wouldn't dare to bring something so precious to a place like Camp Wawananakwa, but I have to do something to fight boredom. I was willing to bet that I wouldn't be able to touch it once I actually set foot on the island, but I still had a good four hours ahead of me, of which I had to do something.

So I began playing Dragon-Assassin.

Did I ever mention that I am the only one out of my group of friends that can make it to the secret twelfth level of Dragon-Assassin? I spent months working on my technique, and it has finally paid off. I am busy trying to behead a dragon when a stewardess taps my shoulder.

_Bam! _I'm dead, just like that. I pull my headphones out of my ears, grumbling. I hate being interrupted.

She almost looks apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Andrews," she says sweetly, "But I'm going to have to ask you to put your laptop away for safety reasons."

Oh. Right. Radiation. I had temporarily forgotten about the danger of using laptops on planes. I scowl. "I don't even have internet."

She doesn't back down. "Please just put it away, Mr. Andrews."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever," I mutter, and heave it back into my bag. She smiles and leaves. I cross my arms. What am I supposed to do for the next four hours?

This was going to be a long trip.

**XxX**

I amuse myself for the next four hours by reading through these stack of papers which have caused me so much pain. The fifth season of Total Drama has been dubbed 'Reloaded', and is taking place at the original island. However, the casting is slightly different. All members from World Tour are returning, with the exception of Alejandro. I assume Chris has a replacement for him, given that he'd been trampled and been coated in lava. If my eyes had been working correctly, he'd been placed into the 'Drama Machine', a mechanical suit of sorts that he used to move about. He was only ever taken out when he was at the hospital. I suspect that the replacement is someone like Beth.

Ugh, Beth. That short, glasses-wearing oddity. She likes to pretend she's 'cool' and hangs out with Lindsay all the time. If there was ever an example of a fairly intelligent person wasting their potential, Beth is a prime example. She's also from a farm. A _farm! _Well, at least that explains the smell.

Chris has also promised the world better challenges. More embarrassing, more confronting…he expects to get top ratings for season five. And I expect that he will. At our expense.

I sigh again. At least we'll all be in the same place this time. World Tour, although marginally better than Island, had me in constant danger of going into anaphylaxis; I have a number of severe allergies, one of which is panda dander. Yes, I am aware of how ridiculous that sounds. No, I don't like it. I only know I'm allergic to such things because I broke out in hives during a school excursion to the zoo when I was eight.

I turn my thoughts back to Reloaded. My little cousins definitely won't be able to watch this season, since Aunt Kim hates violence of any kind, and with Chris promising this to be the most 'confronting' and 'challenging' season yet…I wouldn't want to watch it either.

When the plane touches down at Ontario, I don't feel any better about the situation. My only consolation is, as I am rapidly herded out of the plane by the irate stewardess towards the 'Boat of Losers', that I am at least friendly with some of the cast. Cody, despite his pathetic attempts to be part of the 'cool kids', had a keen mind, and I didn't mind speaking with him. Owen, although in desperate need of a diet, was friendly to almost everyone, and for some reason, had taken a liking to me. That was fine; we couldn't talk about Dragon-Assassin or anything like that, but I could slip in a few snide comments with him being none the wiser. It was a give-take relationship, I supposed.

Grumbling to myself, lugging my luggage along, I am surveying the scene before me (I make out a corridor of rooms on the boat numbered from one to twenty-four), when a hessian bag is pulled over my face. I immediately drop my bags and squawk in protest, my hands flying to my face. One thing I hate is not being able to see. Without sight, I can't analyse a situation and best decide how to sit this one out.

In other words, whoever had just pulled that bag over me had left me helpless.

"What're you doing?!" I splutter, clawing at the bag. A pair of arms immediately restrain me.

"You ain't allowed to see any of the other contestants until Chris announces ye," a gruff voice replies- is it Chef Hatchet? They poke me violently in the ribs, and I wince. "Now get movin'!"

"But my luggage-" My protest falls on deaf ears.

"Someone will pick it up later!" I am steered towards an unknown location, presumably my dungeon- I mean room. Where I fall between one and twenty-four, I have no idea, but soon enough, a door opens, and I am shoved roughly onto what feels like a squashy armchair. I immediately jump up to verbally assault my attacker, but I am pushed back onto the armchair. I hear two large thumps as my bags are thrown inside, and I grind my teeth in frustration. My laptop was in there!

Then the door slams, and there's no more sound. I pull the bag from my face, and I survey the room before me. It's elaborate and modern, quite luxurious really. There's a mirror, a desk…And I know that it's just Chris's way of torturing us. He did it in the first season as well. Placing us in luxurious rooms like this, making us think that the camp is going to be just the same, when in reality…the things he puts us through, they're barely legal. Certainly making us stand at the mouth of an active volcano whilst Heather and Alejandro threw sacrifices into it wasn't. It was a miracle that none of us died.

And yet I am going through this again. Go figure.

I refrain myself from going through my bag- they were filming me now, now doubt about it. I didn't want the audience, (or Chris, for that matter), realising that I, Noah Andrews, was actually quite frightened of what Chris had in store for me. What kind of reception would I get? Was I still mostly disliked by the other contestants? Were Cody and Owen going to be there? How long would it be before I tried to kill myself out of sheer embarrassment?

As I ponder these thoughts, the boat stops. I am nearly hurled out of my chair, and only save myself from doing so by gripping the armrests tightly. Oh, no. It's time. Will I be first? Or will I be last?

I can't think straight. I don't like it at all.

When my door opens, and, sure enough, it's Chef who's standing there, looking as surly as ever, I stand, silently accepting my fate. "Don't forget yer bags, scrawny kid!" Chef bellows at me, jerking a huge thumb towards my belongings. "If yer forget them, I ain't returning them!"

"Okay, I've got the picture," I snarl under my breath, picking my things up, already wanting this to be over, "Now where do I go?"

Chef points. "Down the hallway and out that door. Chris'll announce yer once he sees yer."

"Thanks," I mutter, and begin my journey to hell.

When I poke my head into the sunlight, I see Chris standing on the Dock of Shame, megaphone in hand. I groan inwardly. _Oh, great…this just gets worse and worse. _Chris grins his evil grin before he announces me. I stare out at the sea of people before me, and I recognise them all. Cody, Sierra, Sadie and Katie, Heather (good God!), Courtney, Harold, Owen, Leshawna, Bridgette, Geoff, and Izzy. Well, they may be my possible downfall, but at least it people I know. And, I think to myself maliciously, I know what makes these people tick. If they irritate me, they'll receive a lashing from Trashmouth.

"Our eleventh camper is…NOAH!" Chris screams delightedly into the megaphone. I grimace and make my way up the Dock of Shame, making my expression carefully neutral. When I reach our resident nutcase, Chris raises a hand in greeting, taking delight in my disgusted expression. "Noah, hey! Long time no see!"

I don't bother greeting him in return. Why would I? "Did you get my memo this time?" I demand. Chris looks mystified.

"Uh, about…?"

I roll my eyes. "My life-threatening allergies," I snap, and dimly I hear Leshawna say something ominous about me to Bridgette, who giggles.

"Sorry dude, I must have missed it." Chris is annoyingly blasé about this. I nearly growl in frustration. I made _sure _that I sent it ahead…

"Anyway, Noah, it's a half-hour show, so if you don't mind getting out of the way…" Chris shoves me aside, into Owen, ironically. The big guy immediately grips me in a bear hug. Good God, what is this? 'Try-and-strangle-Noah-day'?

"Aw, I'm happy to see ya, little guy!" he practically screams into my ear. I roll my eyes but allow myself to be partially strangled. Cody gives me a quick wave, before he's tackled again by Sierra.

"…And there goes my eardrum…" I mumble.

"I'm sorry, what was that, Noah?!" Owen shouts. Ugh, this is embarrassing…and I do believe that my other eardrum is in danger of going, too.

Chris is annoyed, and suddenly Chef is looming over me, holding an axe. He's glaring at me, and grinning. My jaw goes slack suddenly, and what worries I had about my eardrum vanish in an instant. "Now, as I was saying…" Chris is suddenly looking cheerful again, and Chef is nowhere to be seen- how does he manage that, a big guy like him? "It's time to announce the rest of the contestants!" He does a rather ridiculous wave with both his hands as he says this. I'd roll my eyes, but I don't feel like being killed by Chef today.

The rest of the contestants are announced, and they don't look happy to be back. I am still in Owen's arms, feeling ridiculous. As we watch, the Dock of Shame slowly fills up with people. Trent, Justin, Gwen, Eva (now _that _was a surprising return!), Lindsay, Tyler…it was more or less the original cast back together again. With the exception of Beth and Alejandro.

Speaking of Alejandro, where was he? I hadn't seriously contemplated that he might actually return, but he was power-hungry, scheming…he might try to return just for another chance at two million. Maybe Heather as well.

Chris claps his hands together delightedly. "All right, so we're all here!" I do a quick head count. Nineteen, if you count Sadie and Katie as separate people. If we were going to divide into two teams, there had to be another person…or someone wasn't even going to make it onto the show. Probably the latter, knowing Chris.

"Or _are _we?"

Chris surprises us all again. He smirks, and says, "Because of his, uh, _medical condition, _Alejandro will _not _be participating in Total Drama Reloaded." Heather sighs and looks on the verge of tears. It's probably immoral of me, but I take some satisfaction in seeing her cry. "However! I have found a replacement for our beloved Alejandro." Surely Chris knows that we all hate Alejandro? He was the main reason why we were all voted off. Well, in most cases, anyway.

But Chris isn't done yet. "May I announce…_Abigail!" _

A female walks onto the Dock of Shame. She's a small thing, and very slight- maybe Cody's height, if that. Except for her hair, which was fiery and looked like it would set her alight any second, she looked like she was about to be blown away. I notice that she is wearing what appear to be mechanic overalls, and I raise an eyebrow, before Owen proceeds to shove me into his armpit as he hoots a hello to her.

I hear everyone murmur a greeting to the newcomer, with the exception of two people: Heather, because she doesn't do niceties, and me, because I was still currently pressed into Owen's armpit and in serious danger of suffocating.

Well, this was going _great_ so far.


	3. Chapter 3

I flail my arms around, trying desperately to wriggle out of Owen's armpit, but it's not working. If anything, I am forcing myself deeper into the abyss. Ugh, the stench is overwhelming. I try to breath, and end up inhaling stale air. I choke, and I can tell my face is slowly turning blue. Is this it, then? I made it all the way to Reloaded, only to die inside Owen's armpit? Could I not die a slightly more dignified way? Because flailing around in a fat guy's armpit did not exactly strike me as dignified, or even somewhat noble. Five minutes into the show, I muse to myself, and already I am the laughing stock.

My vision blurs, and it is getting harder to breathe. My throat feels like it is constricting on me, and I feel light-headed. I groan weakly. My hands go to my throat, but it's no use. I can see little dots of white light, and I know that this is it- I am going to die.

My hands fall limply to my sides. My eyes close. I make sure to still my breathing.

And then I hear…_him._

"Uh, Owen? Buddy? You might want to take Noah out of your armpit, he looks like he's gonna die, and yeah…premature death doesn't sit well with the critics." Even with my almost certain death, Chris is still annoyingly cheerful. How can be like that? Then I remember. Of course. This is _Chris. _

Owen screams so loudly that even buried up to my waist in his armpit, my ears start aching. I grimace, and inhale another lungful of stale air. I start choking again. This is horrible. This is…_violation. _"NOAH! I'll save you, little buddy!" And just like that, I am plucked from his armpit, and breathing in fresh air, blinking stupidly in the sunlight.

Chris is wearing his usual snarky grin. The other contestants, yes, including Abigail, are staring at me, wide-eyed. Owen hugs me, perhaps a little too tightly given what I've just been through. "I'm sorry, Noah!" he wails, holding me tight to his chest, not realising that my feet are no longer touching the ground. I attempt a consoling smile, but end up with my usual smirk.

"It's not like I needed to live, anyway," I say with as much venom as I can. Unfortunately, my remark falls on deaf ears. Owen hugs me one more time, before he sets me down. I stagger a little on impact, but otherwise I am alright.

"You're not going to die on us, are you Noah?" Chris asks, pretending to actually be concerned for my welfare, but his eyes are sparkling with laughter.

"What a shame _that _would be," Heather laughs.

I smile sweetly. "And miss out on all the fun? I'm not planning on it."

"YAAAY, NOAH!" Owen screams. I grimace. I now have the attention of everyone on the show- and it's embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than the time Duncan decked me on that ridiculous excuse Chris used to get auditions for Action. I feel my face grow red, despite my near death. I hate being the centre of attention.

"And now that we're all alive and well," Chris announces, "It's time to sort you campers into teams!"

"Will there be three teams again?" Leshawna demands, flicking her ponytail dismissively, "Because _that _did not turn out so hot."

"Yeah!" Lindsay says, appearing uncharacteristically focused for once, "We lost that one so bad!"

Incredibly, Abigail is edging towards Leshawna and Lindsay, probably hoping to find some comfort amongst her fellow females. Well, she was in for a shock. Leshawna beat people who annoyed her, and Lindsay…well, she wasn't exactly the smartest person around. In fact, a rock was probably more intelligent than she was.

Chris chuckles in that way that promises something awful. "Good news, campers," he says, "There'll only be two teams this season, and I have an _awesome _way of deciding who goes where."

"Ooh, scary," Heather says sarcastically, rolling her eyes. It looks like my time here will be a short one. I detest unintelligent people like Lindsay, but people like Heather…I _loathe. _

"Oh, I know, right?" Lindsay agrees. She misses Heather's eye roll at her stupidity, which is a good thing. Apparently Lindsay has forgotten that Heather has used her for her own personal gain in the first season, and Lindsay, in a rare stroke of intelligence, flipped her off pretty badly.

Like I said, Lindsay wasn't all that smart.

And this Abigail girl was hanging around her!

Not that it bothers me. Why would it? I came here to win two million dollars, not worry about the pecking order and who backstabs who.

Chris and Chef (who has appeared again suddenly, and is dressed in what looks like a latex suit…disgusting, if you ask me) exchange a grin. Suddenly, I feel my stomach churn uneasily. My heart sinks. If it's possible, I actually feel worse than I did when I was suffocating in Owen's armpit. Chris has something horrible in store for us, and I'm not sure that I particularly want to find out what it is.

"It _is _very scary," Chris agrees, nodding towards Chef, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "And it's dangerous as well. So this is why, for your safety, you're going to need to wear these." And he holds out a pair of rubber gloves, as well as plastic goggles.

I can't help myself. This is just too ridiculous. "What is this, a horror movie?" I ask incredulously, letting my mouth curl into its comfortable smirk. Owen hoots with laughter beside me, and Cody gives me a gap-toothed grin of appreciation. My eyes flick towards Leshawna, Lindsay, Bridgette, and Abigail. Leshawna looks disgusted (which is none too surprising, since she originally voted me off in season one), Lindsay looks terrified at the possibility that it IS a horror movie, Bridgette looks like she's trying not to smile, and Abigail is giggling. I turn back toward Chris. "Are there spiders and snakes in there?" I demand, "Yeah, real original Chris."

Chris grins his wolfish grin. "No to the first, yes to the second," he says, and suddenly we all look terrified. Yes, _this _was the sort of thing I was afraid of. I'm not afraid of snakes, but I certainly don't like them. This was going to be embarrassing, and better yet, on internation television.

I begin thinking of what I could write on my obituary. _Here lies Noah Andrews, murdered by Chris Maclean and his hairbrained schemes. _Or maybe, _Noah Andrews, killed on live television doing Chris Maclean's bidding. _Whatever I have on there, I want Chris to be blamed for my death. I start calculating how long it would take to die of snakebite. Depending on the snake, it can take anywhere between a few minutes and a few days.

I shudder. Ugh.

"_However," _Chris says, jolting me out of my pessimistic thoughts, "There's also something else in this barrel!" Chef steps aside to reveal a large barrel. We can all hear things slithering and slipping around inside, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Sierra hug Cody closer, and whisper something that makes him groan.

"Please tell me it's not rats," Katie says. Sadie blanches.

"Ohmigosh, rats are like, totally disgusting!" she exclaims. They then hug. Could you even count them as separate people? They were practically clones of each other!

"I can live with rats," Gwen says, smiling. Trent has his arm around her, which Cody looks none too pleased about.

"Same here, babe," he says.

Chris holds up his hands, looking impatient. "Guys, guys," he frowns, "There's no rats in here, okay? Just a couple of…LEECHES!"

There is an instant uproar. Most of the girls, except for Eva, who attempts to punch Chris, only to be held back by Chef, scream. Izzy looks excited. Cody- I can't tell what Cody thinks, because he's being suffocated by Sierra, who doesn't appear to have listened to a single word Chris has said. Justin looks terrified of getting his hands dirty, and I take a moment to enjoy his misery, knowing full well that he gets paid to look good, whereas Chris gets paid to make people look terrible.

"All right, bring it on!" Tyler and Owen scream simultaneously. I grimace. I am in serious danger of losing my hearing.

Chris waits until we've screamed ourselves hoarse, and gestures towards the pile of gloves and goggles. "For your first challenge," he says, "You must first put on a pair of these gloves and goggles. Then form a single line up to this barrel. What you first touch you have to pick up, and what you end up choosing will tell you what team you're on!" He smirks. "It's pretty easy, so on your marks…get set…GOOO!"

And so it begins. Everyone scrambles for a pair of gloves and goggles. I decide to stay back for a bit, enough so that people like Leshawna and Eva can go first without pummelling me, but ahead enough so that I am in front of people like Harold and Lindsay. When it's finally my turn to put on the gloves and goggles, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel slightly ridiculous.

Katie is in front of me, fishing around in the barrel. "Ohmigosh, Sadie, there are things _slithering _in here!" she cries.

I roll my eyes. "Obviously," I snap. Sadie has already had her turn- I note, with some disgust, that she is holding a leech in her gloved hands, which looks like it's about to explode. She glares at me.

"Like, don't be so mean, Noah," she says. I roll my eyes again and turn away.

"Whatever, I'm done with you imbeciles, anyway," I mutter. Izzy jostles me slightly, obviously eager to do some 'fishing'. Katie proudly holds up her own swelling leech, and Sadie cheers. I snort and take my place in front of the barrel. Honestly…even if Katie had picked up a snake, they would have ended up on the same team anyway. They always do- hence my theory that Sadie and Katie were not separate people, but one personality split into two bodies.

This really is disgusting. I shove my hands inside the barrel, and can immediately feel the creatures squirming inside some sort of liquid. I had to pull out the first thing I touched, so I close my fingers around a squirming thing and pull it out. I pray that it isn't a leech…I might very well end up braindead if I am to be on the same team as Sadie and Katie.

To my relief, it's a snake. A cobra, actually, and I understand why we had to wear goggles the instant that Tyler starts to scream.

"It's spitting at me!" he shouts, waving his cobra around wildly. Chris has a good laugh for that one.

"Yeah…hence why I asked you guys to wear your goggles," he says. Tyler has his goggles on, thank goodness, but now they're covered in cobra venom. He trips over a plank and falls flat on his face, on top of the snake, whose eyes bulge. Lindsay instantly rushes over to him, calling out his name frantically, even asking him if he's dead. My face contorts into a stunned expression. Uh, was Lindsay seriously that dumb?

My own cobra tries to have a spit at me, but I hold it at arm's length, one fist under its head so it can't twist and bite me. I've never handled a snake before, of course, but I see a trick like this all the time on Dragon-Assassin. You grab the sea dragon by the tail, and make sure its head is secure so it can't bite you and make you melt from the inside out. When you've played this game for years, as I have, you learn things.

Quickly our teams are sorted. I look around and see that Izzy, Owen, Harold, Lindsay, Tyler, Bridgette, Geoff, Leshawna and the new girl are all holding snakes. The others (I note with some dismay that Cody is not on my team- who will I be able to have some semblance of an intelligent conversation with now?) are all holding leeches. I see how black and huge they are, and how dangerously close to bursting they are, and am infinitely glad I am holding a snake.

"So, that's teams sorted," Chris announces. He is holding two rolled-up flags, and I remember how he did that in season one, with the Screaming Gophers and the Killer Bass. He throws a pastel green one to Geoff, who catches it and immediately unravels it. On it is a poor drawing of a snake, with what I assume is spit flying out of its mouth. "May I announce…THE SPITTING COBRAS!" Chris screams delightedly. He then proceeds to toss a pink flag to the others. Sadie and Katie catch it, to reveal what looks like…a worm. I assume it's meant to be a leech, though. "And…THE BURSTING LEECHES!"

Silence. You could hear a pin drop.

"Why'd you give us stupid names like that?!" Eva yells, her face going red, "You think this is funny?!" She is immediately restrained by Heather and Courtney. Chris grins.

"Yeah, well, we kind of started running out of names in season four, so we just make it up as we go along," he says. I wouldn't be surprised if he's telling the truth. Chris isn't one to plan things. "And yeah, it is kinda funny."

I'm actually not too fazed by my team's name. I mean, yes, it's stupid, but considerably better than 'bursting leeches'. I again feel that stirring of pity in me for those poor people who have to suffer that name, and once again, I bite it back. I need to focus.

Chris claps his hands together, and Chef picks up the now-empty barrel with ease, earning several gasps from us. "Well, none too shabby for your first challenge," he says, "But! There is worse to come." I believe him. "Now, that's all for tonight, so why don't you all go and get yourselves settled, so I can wake you up bright and early tomorrow!" This sounds more like an order than a suggestion, so my new team and I pick up our luggage and trudge towards our cabins. We can tell it's ours because of the ludicrous green snake scrawled on the side. The Leeches have a similar one with a pink worm on it, to the east. Girls go in one, guys go in the other. As the girls chatter aimlessly about who gets to sleep where, Owen scoops me up under his arm again.

"Isn't this great, Noah?!" he hoots happily, hauling me along- I actually don't mind, since it saves me the effort of walking there myself. I force a grin.

"Yeah…perfect," I say, rolling my eyes. Ahead of us, the new girl is introducing herself to everyone.

"Hi, guys," she says, albeit a bit shyly. She gives us all a small smile. "Looks like we're teammates for the next eight weeks."

After a comment like that, she was just asking to be ridiculed. I open my mouth to give a snarky remark, but find that nothing witty and cutting enough comes to mind. I close my mouth hastily, not wanting to look like an idiot. Why do I even bother? Leshawna clearly has this handled.

"Hey, girl," she chirps, giving Abigail a friendly slap on the shoulder, "Wow, your hair is red-as! You sure you don't dye it, girl?"

Abigail grins. "No, I don't dye it," she says. "All natural, I'm afraid." I perk a little at the small comment. Was that…?

"It's so pretty!" Lindsay exclaims, and the three of them are chattering away, just like that.

I let a sigh escape me, and Owen, perhaps mistaking it for one of misery, grips me tighter. "Aw, don't be like that, lil' buddy!" he shouts. "This is gonna be AWESOME!"

"Too right, man!" Tyler says, jumping up to give Owen a high-five, and falling flat on his face again in the process. I roll my eyes. I am surrounded by idiots. There are a million things I would rather be doing than be squashed under Owen's arm. Playing Dragon-Assassin, sitting down, lying down, occasionally leaning…

When we reach our adjacent cabins, us guys say goodbye to the girls (or rather, I attempt to, and can't manage it because Owen has me in a headlock), and move into our cabin. There are five of us, and three sets of bunk-beds, so one is immediately deemed as the 'sitting-down bed'. Tyler and Geoff bunk together, Geoff taking a surprising smart turn and making Tyler sleep on the bottom, knowing full well Tyler's clumsiness, Harold immediately claims a bunk for himself, saying that it was bad for him to bunk with another person, and that left me with Owen.

I sigh, and, when Owen isn't looking, pretend to shoot myself in the head. Eight whole weeks with putting up with Owen's body odour, his tendency to let one rip unexpectedly, and his sleepwalking…_naked. _I may as well just board the boat home now.

"Aw man, this is AWESOME!" Owen screams. Even Geoff, who's usually laidback, winces. "No more planes!"

"No more planes," I agree, and climb up the ladder. There is no way I am allowing Owen to take the top bunk- I've been squashed by him before, and it's not exactly a nice feeling. I couldn't move my neck for the whole episode after that. Coincidentally, it was also the episode I was voted off- _I See London. _Owen climbs into the bottom bunk, and even though I am shorter than the average male my age, I bounce upwards and hit my head on the ceiling. "Ow!"

"Sorry, Noah!" comes the expected apology. Not bothering to strip down to my boxers, I wrap myself in my blanket and force myself to close my eyes. It was only eight weeks. Not much could happen in eight weeks.

These eight weeks were going to be completely and totally uneventful, right?


End file.
